With all the speed I can muster, I jerk back, banging into the wall as my boots scuff on the cobbles. By some miracle, the fire stumbles over the remnants of the barrier -- most likely as a consequence of the other glove -- but it is still there, and so is the man, a mere step away, one half of Ligari's precious enchantment clutched in his hand.
Black sparks prick at my palm. I curl my fist, hiding them from view, instead channelling flame inward and towards my ribs. The pain eases. I scramble to my feet, darting as far into the corner between houses as I can get.
His head tips to the side. "That brought you to life."
He's not wrong. Fire skips through my veins, a thread of energy to hold me upright. It's a relief as much as a crippling fear. A different weapon. I fumble for my dagger, its hilt almost slipping from my naked hand as I hold it out before me, jabbing it in his direction.
"Stay back." Finally, a drop of the command I've been searching for leaks into my tone.
He only chuckles. "Slade, get the other one."
Slade is nothing but a silhouetted figure, but his lunge is certainly not difficult to miss. Instinct takes over. I jerk my left arm behind my back, and in the same moment drive forward with my right, sinking the blade into his blurred chest. A cry cuts through the air. As I yank the dagger back, he staggers away, almost crashing into his companion.
It worked. Exhilaration mingles with shock in my stomach. Dully, red illuminates the blade, brighter than its former grey. My doing, not that of the flame. I just stabbed someone.
And I'm about to be stabbed in return, if I don't stay alert. Moonlight streaks the shape of a blade as it swings towards me. I thrust my dagger up to block it, gripping its hilt with both hands, arms shaking as I fight to keep the sword from creeping closer. If this third figure manages to cut me, fire will pour out. I can't kill again. Not when the prevention of that is still wrapped tightly around my left hand.
Flame hisses as it bunches in my muscles, steeling them against the blade. Much else beyond it is obscured by the night. I need the other glove. My thoughts whir and tangle, an ocean of white noise I can't make sense of. All I can do is remain flattened in the corner, helplessly trapped under the threat of a strike.
My arms strain. The sword's tip angles towards my chest, tilting our struggle, and I press against it desperately. I can't continue this forever. I'm going to give in far sooner than my opponent.
The most effective weapon I have left is the truth.
A burning pulse snakes over my fingers, barely contained. My eyes flick to my left. There is empty space. Perhaps if I jerk back suddenly, I can dodge out of his path, then spin and let them see the flame, letting its threat ward them away. I can work out how to retrieve my second glove once I have a handle on the situation.
Yet before I can gather the courage to release the blade's locked hold, a shout rings out over the street.
All pressure on my dagger vanishes. Snatching at the opportunity, I allow the lost momentum to carry me forward, slashing at whatever lies beyond the stilled sword. A growling yelp, and my attacker staggers back. I swing my dagger in a wide arc. My heart pounds as I search the shadows, startling illuminated by a weak amber light.
Two men stand facing me, swords drawn. A thin red line slits the second's chest diagonally. The third -- Slade -- is sitting half-upright between them, hand clasped over his middle. Blood spills over his fingers. I wince, swallowing the earthy taste tainting the back of my throat. My doing.
Yet none of them look at me. Without lowering my dagger, I turn, following their collective gaze, just as a second shout fills the night. This time, I hear the words it forms.
"Leave him."
Its speaker strides towards us, the pale shape of a cloak flapping out at her side. A sword points downwards in her grip, longer and thinner than the ones the men hold, with a wicked point that glints in the filtered moonbeams. A lantern, the source of the sudden light, dangles from her other hand, flame thrown to and fro as it swings. Her skin doesn't properly take on the light, wrapped in shadows. Every angle of her demeanor exudes authority and confidence.
My nails dig into my hilt's leather. Fire has broken out around it, circling the black smudges that remain there from Camdyn's final battle. I leave it for the moment. If I draw it back, the action might steal the strength needed to block the next attack, from whatever source it comes. This newcomer looks no more friendly than the others.
"I'll take him," she adds, her silent steps halting only an arm's length from us.
One of the men, the first one I encountered, wheels on her. "Why, exactly? We found him first. He's ours."
"Yours to waste?" Mockery coats her words. "Stand down, Aiden."
There is a heavy pause. Aiden's gaze rests on her, then flicks to me, his face twisting. Before I can react, he is thrusting his sword towards my neck, its hilt jamming against the wall as he holds it over me. Breath flees. My spine protests as I press myself into the panels, frantically dodging out of the blade's path. It only needs to move a single inch. I cling to every particle of air that maintains the gap.
"You stand down," he snarls, glaring over his shoulder at her. "Or I'll kill him. Then neither of us get the prize."
Or he ends up dead, and I'm a monster again. I grip my dagger harder. Is there a way I can get it underneath his sword and push the threat away? Or would that only hasten the path of my flame?
"Like I say," she continues, voice dry and unfazed, "yours to waste."
"Aide," the other man whispers from off to the side. "Aide, she's right. We're done for if you kill him."
Aiden growls under his breath. For a terrifying second, I'm sure he is going to ignore them and attempt the act regardless. But then he wrenches the sword away. "How do we know you won't misuse him?"
"We are on the same side, aren't we?" She tips her head sideways, light cutting sharply across her face. "If we can't trust one another, then who is left?"
"Then why don't you trust us?" He folds his arms, the sword sticking out at an angle. His companion glances at him nervously, waving his own blade closer to me. I return the gesture with no real focus. She commands too much of our attention.
"I'm smarter than you," she says simply. "Now go. Leave the boy with me. And for the kingdom's sake, get Slade some help so he'll stop moaning away down there."
Slade scowls in response. It merges with a grimace as Aiden reluctantly turns away from me, resigned to following her orders, and begins hauling him upright. The lantern deepens the scarlet seeping through his formerly grey clothing. An identical colour streaks my dagger. Guilt ties knots in my stomach.
I begin to turn my gaze downward, but as I do so, I catch a glimpse of my glove securely balled up in his fist. A gasp tumbles out along with my words. "Wait. I... I need my glove back."
His stare is piercing as he whips to face me. Slade falls from his grip, stumbling into their third companion. "Not a chance," Aiden snaps.
The woman sighs. Wordlessly, she leaps forward, ripping the glove from him before I've even noticed her come nearer. I flinch as she turns on me, but she only tosses it in my direction. Fumbling with it, I scoop it into my chest, relief trickling through in warm waves at the newly familiar touch of leather.
"This isn't the end of this," Aiden declares as Slade slings an arm over their friend's shoulders. He drags my eyes back up, almost baring his teeth at me. "I'll find you again, little silver toy."
"Yes, yes," she mutters. "Off you go."
With a final growl, he spins on his heels and marches off down the street. The other two hobble after him. I watch them go, making out every trace of blood I caused left in their wake. It's only when they reach the edge of the lantern's reach and sink into darkness, claimed by the night, do I find the capacity to take a breath. Fire prickles under my skin.
My fire. Tucking my dagger under my arm, I slide my glove on as quickly as possible. The flame subsides. The danger is gone.
I want to lie back against the panels and properly catch my breath, but I am not without company. The woman still stands over me. She may not be in danger any longer, but as long as that narrow blade remains in her hand, I most certainly am. I whip my dagger out again, clutching it in both hands as she surveys me.
She holds the lantern higher, placing me in a spotlight. "Is he right?" she asks eventually. "Are you Neyaibet?"
I give my head a firm shake. "Oscensi."
"And the silver thread?"
Fingers curling over my hilt, I dare to glance up at her eyes. They are unreadable. "Neyaibet," I say tightly, gaze flitting to her sword. She doesn't raise it. She's waiting for me to continue, so I press through my hesitation. "But not willingly. I was... captured by them." It isn't a lie, and I hope that lends me surety.
"Was that when you lost your sister?"
I freeze. She knows it; the first hint of a spark lights in her eyes as she sets her lantern on the ground between us. Reaching out, she pushes my blade down. My stiff arms are no match for her steady force.
"Yes, Woodrow talked about you," she says without releasing the dagger. She leaves a pause, but I'm afraid to fill it, and so she continues. "I'll offer a story. You and this sister, both drafted into the army. You get captured, she doesn't. You're just a kid, so they take pity on you, but then you escape?" The question tips upwards at the end as she looks me up and down, doubtful.
"I had help," I admit. I tug weakly at my dagger, but she is already prising it from my grip.
"Thought so." She lifts the dagger fully, its hilt flashing white as she twizzles it. "Now here you are, trying to find your way back to your battalion. Correct?"
It is close enough to the truth that I simply nod. If anything, she has outlined the edges of lies without me having to scrabble for them.
Frowning at my blade, she exhales audibly. "It checks out, but I've met too many good liars to be overly trusting. You don't have any other weapons, do you?"
A wry laugh quickly suffocates itself in my clenched chest. "No."
"Good. Grab the lantern and follow close behind me. Keep your head down."
Her cloak sweeps over me as she turns, its thin material surprisingly soft. Impatience strikes sharply from her backward glance over her shoulder. Hurriedly, I grab for the lantern's handle, staggering a little under its weight. It needs shifting fully onto my shoulder before it feels remotely bearable, though my muscles protest. No flame means I'm weak again. The thought only adds to the weight.
And without my dagger, I am entirely defenceless. I watch her spin it with an ache in my chest.
She starts off, her steps light and brisk. Her cloak flicks at my face with every beat, but I obey her order and stick right behind her, despite the chilling pricks embracing my arms.
I find myself inspecting the lantern's flickering flame. Part of me wants to try removing a glove and letting my senses reach out, testing if I hold any control over this natural fire, as foolish as that would be. It shouldn't even be my focus at all. Tearing my gaze from it, I look instead at the creases of the woman's dusted white cloak, her broad shoulders just beneath it.
With all my heart, I pray she means me no harm. She seems to be with Oscensi, at least, though I've learned frequently that the kingdom a person hails from has no bearing on the way they treat me. Yet she has the opportunity to hurt me -- plenty of it, with her own sword in one hand and my dagger still held in the other -- and she isn't using it. Unless she's merely taking me somewhere more private. I pick at the thread Aiden dragged loose, twirling it around my finger, letting it dig into my glove as if the faint pain will burn away my fear.
We turn a corner, reentering the now empty square, and immediately take a sharp left, ducking further into the heart of the village. I fail to peer around her. Her pace is too quick to do anything more than keep up.
Swallowing, I release the thread. I'm alone. I need any help I can come by. "I'm Nathaniel, by the way," I say, raising my voice so I hope she hears it. The night seems otherwise quiet bar the whir of the wind.
"Nathaniel what?" Her tone makes me flinch.
"A--" I have to bite down on my tongue to cut off the name. Not Anathe. That isn't something to reveal. But now I'm left scrambling amongst my fragmented memory for anything of use, and all words seem to flee my grasp.
The pause has gone on too long. I blurt out the first word that catches my hold. "Aspen."
The moment it enters the air, I wince. Finlay's tree, the one he used to sit under with his mother. Not a great choice. But I can't back out now.
Fiesi, I correct myself before the memory can spill out too far. His name is Fiesi. His mention of the aspen tree could simply have been another of his lies. Although, somehow, I can't quite believe that.
The woman hums to herself as we round another bend. I've already lost track of where we are. "I don't recognise it. Your sister must have joined after my time."
For a moment, silent sweeps back in, but then she spins so abruptly I almost crash into her. The lantern slips down my arm, and she uses her sword to guide it away from her chest. I tense up as its edge passes close to my shoulder.
"I'm Rovena Aytone," she says briskly. "A pleasure, Nathaniel Aspen. Please step inside."
We've halted towards the end of a murky street. A door stands before us, cocked ajar by Rovena's elbow, and beyond the dim shape of a room. With a glance at her, I slip through the opening, holding the lantern aloft to illuminate the space.
It is simply furnished, with only a single brown seat shabbier than Ligari's, although stretched out longer, and a collection of work surfaces strewn with various implements. A stone structure curves over the far wall, blackened ashes piled behind a crooked railing. I swing the lantern to my right, and jump back as it clangs against metal. A full suit of armour sits proudly upon a stand, paled and covered in scratches. On the hardwood floor at its feet, another, slightly curved sword lies beside a bow and a few arrows. Taking a nervous step back into the centre of the room, I look back at Rovena just in time to see her shut the door with a scraping thump.
She tosses her sword to the ground as she strides past. It clatters against the other weapons, and I flinch. As she collapses into the seat, still examining my dagger, I force myself to creep closer.
"Are you a soldier?" I ask.
"I used to be." Glancing up, she shifts to the left end of the seat and pats the space beside her. "Come on."
Her cloak splays out behind her, unclasped to reveal a thick greyish shirt. The whites of her clothes are starkly contrasted by her hair's jet black as she gathers it up, strands lifting from her shoulders, and ties it with a pale scrap of material, although it perfectly matches the unusually dark colour of her skin. Her hand returns to rest over my dagger in her lap as I edge around her, perching on the seat a pace away. I place the lantern between us.
"I left Oscensi's army about eighteen months ago. Retired, they call it, but that makes me sound old, so I don't tend to use that word." She flips the dagger over, running a finger along its flat edge. "It's a shame. I would have stayed longer, but age creeps up on us all, and I wouldn't want to slow anyone down. Then again," she adds with a sigh, "had I known what was to come, I might have stuck around, if only for my own mental wellbeing. It might have been nice to actually feel like I was doing something instead of pacing around this godforsaken village, hearing the news get worse."
I look down at my hands. "I know what that's like," I mutter. "To be caged while the rest of the world fights on."
"Exactly that," she says, a note of surprise in her voice. But she only scrutinises me wordlessly. Still, I take care to evade her gaze. "Aiden gets it too, to be fair," she adds, peering at me over the dagger's raised tip. "You're not the first potential threat he's pounced on. I'm surprised he didn't hurt you, actually."
My hand drifts to my ribs, tracing their length as if to check for fractures. There is nothing, as I knew, but it draws her notice.
"He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No." I wrench my hand back to my side. "No, I'm fine."
She doesn't look convinced, but only refocuses on the blade, keeping her thoughts silent. "Nevertheless, I know the army. I might be of some help." She spreads an arm over the back of the seat. "If you want it?"
"Please," I say without thinking, my palm pressing into the seat as I lean forward.
"Alright. Whereabouts were you last stationed?"
"I--" My voice falters. "The river Oscei?"
Frowning, she lowers the dagger. I realise the firelight highlights the scarlet gleam coating its edge, and my stomach squirms, tightening. "Incredibly vague," she says dryly, "considering that the majority of the fighting occurred around the Oscei. You're going to have to give me more than that. North, south--"
"South," I say quickly, feeling her suspicion leak into her voice. "Just south, near... yeah. But we moved about a lot, so they could be anywhere." I cringe at the idea of so many lies. Yet to back out now would be to admit what I told her was false, and then she might not be quite so trusting. She thinks we have a soldier's past in common. Without that, would she help at all? Would she simply attack me as Aiden did?
The bloodied blade glints again as she holds it out before her, still observing it in great detail. "Still not particularly helpful. Can you at least give me your battalion's number?"
A number. I can do that. My fingers curl around the seat's edge. "Thirty-five."
She snorts. Jumping upright, I stare at her, then flinch away as she meets my gaze in return. "And how many battalions are there in total?" I'm not sure if the joke that lightens her tone is my imagination or not.
Probably an even number, I guess. Still, the idea that she is quizzing me slithers down my spine. "Fifty?" I offer.
This time, her laugh is full and loud. She fades it with a sigh. "You're not a soldier at all, are you?"
My breath hitches. I watch the dagger, its point, and feel for the seat behind me. If need be, I can get up quickly. My eyes flit to the door.
"I may have met a lot of good liars," she says, drawing my attention back to her. Another chuckle leaves her lips. "But you are certainly not one of them. Should I ask again? Are you Neyaibet?"
I lick my lips, simultaneously checking both her expression and my path out of the house. "No. That's the truth."
The hint of a smile pulls at her lips. She balances the dagger on her crossed legs. "Stop looking for an exit, Nathaniel. I'm not Aiden."
Forcing myself to focus only on her, I nod, swallowing hard. I can see that in her expression, hear it in her tone, but there is an intensity to her stare driven by the wariness flickering behind her eyes. She is undoubtedly a soldier. That life's challenges chip at her edges, unseen or otherwise. She deserves the truth in some form.
"I do come from Polevis," I start shakily, "from the castle. But, well..." I rub at the back of my neck. "I was imprisoned there. In a cell."
Her eyebrows raise. "What in all the world did you do?"
Exist. I gulp down my bitter laugh. "I killed someone." The words taste of rust, infused with the scent of blood. I suddenly have the compulsive urge to search my gloves for any droplets. They're black, clean. The dagger isn't.
Her gaze cuts into me, so I don't look at her, searching the room, the empty hearth. I could spark a fire to life within it. Then she'd understand. Not that I want her to.
"As a kid?" Her voice has dropped, almost tentative.
I nod slowly. "It was an accident." If my flame can be called that. It sears just beneath my skin, and I suck in a breath, clenching my teeth against its icy heat. Ligari's barrier feels too brittle with the way it stirs. "I don't really want to talk about it," I add quickly.
"That I gathered." She unfolds her legs, shoes tapping on the floor. They're so similar to her skin's colour that I hadn't registered the battered, narrow boots, the frays in the criss-crossing ties. "Don't worry, I know the feeling. Tell me about your sister instead. Where was she in all this?"
Thinking of her helps to calm the flame, if only a little. "At the castle."
"Imprisoned as well?"
"No." I chew at my lip. Rovena is about to unpick a second lie. "She used to... visit me."
"But she was a resident of the castle?" At my nod, she leans back, brows creased in thought. "Only the special ones get that privilege. And servants, I suppose, but they wouldn't have the clearance to..." She hums under her breath. "What's her name?"
I look down.
She sighs. "It isn't really Aspen, is it? You made that up." The pause lingers. I can't bring myself to answer, not when the very question drags serrated claws through my heart.
"Nathaniel," she says, firmly. "Her name." It's a command. It yanks my gaze up.
"I don't know her name." There is more bite than I intend.
"You don't..." Her trailing breath merges with a laugh. "Oh. She isn't your sister. She's a mystery girl." Glitter speckles her eyes, sparking in the firelight. "You don't have a clue who she is. But you're so determined to find her--"
"She was kind to me," I mutter.
"Oh, yeah." Pressing a hand briefly to her mouth, she tempers her laughter, though her lips are fixed in a smirk. "Don't try to pretend. You're in love with her."
"I'm..." My face flushes warm, although I can't quite put my finger on the source of the twisting ripples produced by that word. Love. I press a hand to my cheek, soaking in the cool of the leather. "What?"
She stares at me. "Please don't tell me you don't know what love is."
"No, I do," I protest.
She sits upright. "Still a terrible liar."
"I'm not lying." I know what it is to love something. What I don't understand is the way my flame roars in my ears at the thought of that love directed at her.
"Then please, tell me why you don't love her."
I frown, shaking my head. "One can love the night, or the sound of birdsong, or a particular scent. It's a vague word. I loved it when she visited, yes, but... I don't quite know what you mean."
Leaning forward, she reaches out a hand. Before I can dodge it, she is ruffling my hair, fingers running roughly over my scalp. After a stunned moment, I manage to duck away, my own hand flying to my hair to smooth it down again. "Hey!"
"Sorry. You're just too cute." Grinning, she settles into place beside me. "I wish all kids were like you."
I watch her warily, hoping she won't decide to pounce on me again. "You really don't."
"You're right. It makes you more special." Pulling her knees up onto the seat, she turns to face me, hands clasped over her leg. "Loving a person is different from all of that, much deeper. It's..." She lets out a breath. "It's hard to describe. Let's try it this way instead. How do you feel about your girl?"
My throat suddenly feels dry. "I care about her," I say quietly. "A lot."
"Enough to waste your life searching for her?"
My head jerks up, fire smouldering in my chest. "It can't be a waste if it means finding her." Besides, she's the only part of my life I truly want back. Without this mission, I may as well have stayed by that trickling stream, waiting for Fiesi to kill me.
"And what if you don't find her?"
"I will."
"With no leads? Not even a name?" Her voice is probing, her gaze doubtful, and it awakens ice in my veins.
"Look, I will, alright?" I don't hold back the growl lacing my tone. It's true. "If it takes years, I will. I don't care about anything else. I'll search every inch of Oscensi, and Neyaibet, and... and Akurin, even, until I find her, because she's alive" -- I jolt to my feet, energy seething -- "she's alive, I know it. She must be. She has to be."
Rovena meets my gaze calmly. "And what if she isn't?"
Fire skips to my tongue. "Then I'll find out who killed her, and I'll hunt them down. I--I'll burn this whole world to ashes for taking her away. Is that love?"
A raging blaze has taken over my ribcage, tangling amongst my lungs. I'm panting for breath. Looking down, I spread my hand until the muscles strain, then hurriedly close it into a fist as rational realisation sweeps over me. But it's too late. Flame scrapes beneath my glove, and the room spins. Staggering forwards, I clutch for the arm of the seat, bracing myself against it as my eyes squeeze shut.
I must look like a fool to Rovena. Then again, that's probably accurate. I am tearing myself apart over a girl who might be dead.
And I threatened to kill everyone else for that crime. My eyes snap open. I glance over at her nervously, only to find her responding gaze soft. Curious, but soft.
"You okay?" she asks.
I release a shaky laugh. "I think I'm tired."
"I think so too." Standing, she moves over to me, hand resting on my shoulder. The tension that immediately gathers there must be obvious, for she quickly lets go, leaving only a gentle pat there.
Instead, she walks away, her brushing steps echoing in the silence compacted into the room. After a moment, I find the strength to shift to watch her. There is a large container of water, turned dark by the dim light, sitting between the empty fireplace and cluttered countertop. She draws a dripping cloth from it and wipes it over the blade of my dagger.
The return of its clean shine is one less knot in my stomach. She lifts it up, beads of water trickling towards its hilt. "Where did you get this?"
Inhaling sharply, I shove down the dark flash of memory. "I stole it."
"From a Neyaibet soldier?"
I nod.
Spinning it, a faint smile crosses her lips. "I lost a dagger like this about three years ago. White hilt and all." In a couple of strides, she returns to me, sliding her fingers to the blade and then holding it out in front of me. "Save those dirty black fingerprints, it's a nice weapon. Well weighted. Take good care of it."
My hand is still shaking, but I take it from her anyway. The return of its comforting feel helps to calm my pounding heart a touch. "I will. Thank you."
Smiling, she gestures to the seat I lean against. "You can sleep here tonight, if you want. We'll talk more in the morning."
I simply offer another nod, still frozen in my attempt to recover. At least my vision swims less now. I want to express my gratitude to Rovena with more words, but all seem to have fled my grasp.
As she backs away to a second door I hadn't noticed before, twisting a knob behind her, she keeps watching me. Finally, she shakes her head and turns into the opening of the door, only to glance sideways at me again. "You're a good kid, Nathaniel, but be careful. That kind of love is dangerous. You don't want to destroy everything else for one person."
With that, she disappears, leaving me with only the lantern flame and the frightening echo of my own words.
───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────
Fun Fact: For the first time in AToD history, I actually deleted a chapter from my outline rather than adding another. Originally, the plan was for Nathan to kill those three -- or at least Aiden -- and then spend the next day terrified of everyone and occasionally asking about soldiers until he got pulled aside by Rovena. But this way is more fun and flows much better. Even if it does mean I actually changed the plot in favour of less murder. I know right, so weird, who is this Pup imposter--
Anyway, meet Rovena! I've been looking forward to introducing her for a while. And the fun conversation that comes with her. Angst is fun, but angst fuelled by love? Best--
The big question, though. Will Nathan be able to find his girl? Or is he just lying to himself? :D
This chapter ended up just surpassing 5k, but the next one will be fairly short, so that kind of makes up for it. Probably. Who really knows when it's me writing? The chapters just run away with me xD
- Pup